


Trying your luck

by MildredMost



Series: Is This It [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Consensual Non-Consent, Falling In Love, M/M, Magical Accidents, Nipple Play, Rape/Non-con Elements, Roommates, Safeword Use, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-04-30 16:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14501163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MildredMost/pseuds/MildredMost
Summary: Between Draco struggling to fit in at work and arguing with Ron at home, things are not running as smoothly as Ron and Draco had hoped.“you were always terrible at Quidditch. No wonder they put you in goal out of the way.”“Surprised you noticed. Thought you’d have been too busy with your little badge maker, making your hilarious ‘Potter Stinks’ badges,” Ron said.“Leave my badge maker out of it,” Draco yelled.“Well fucking leave my quidditch out of it,” Ron yelled back.





	1. Chapter 1

Draco and Ron were into day two of a row about the house elf.

“Look,” Ron said one morning when they were rushing around bad temperedly, getting ready for work. “Stop leaving your dirty clothes on the bathroom floor for Nimly to pick up. It’s gross.”

“That’s what he’s there for,” Draco had snarled. And that had set them off.

“He’s not a slave, we pay him to clean. But that doesn’t include picking up all the crap you leave lying everywhere. If Hermione...”

But Draco didn’t want to know what Hermione had to say about it. “Stop being such an old woman, I’ll pick them up later,” he interrupted, shrugging on his robes.

“Too late, I already did,” Ron said, and lobbed Draco’s damp underwear at him. They flew through the air in a perfect arc and landed on Draco’s face. Ron burst out laughing. Draco lost it.

“You’re such an immature prick Weasley,” he yelled, tearing them off his face and throwing them back at Ron.

“S-sorry,” Ron said who was still laughing. “I didn’t know my aim was that good.”

“Neither did I, you were always terrible at Quidditch. No wonder they put you in goal out of the way.”

“Oi! Don’t be a dickhead,” said Ron, getting angry.   

“And even in goal you weren’t any good.”

“Surprised you noticed. Thought you’d have been too busy with your little badge maker, making your _hilarious_ ‘Potter Stinks’ badges,” Ron said.

“Leave my badge maker out of it,” Draco yelled.

“Well fucking leave my quidditch out of it,” Ron yelled back.

“You only played Quidditch because you couldn’t bear to be seperated from Potter for five minutes, probably drooling after him in his Quidditch gear. It’s so obvious you’re obsessed with him...”

“Don’t start this shit again Draco, I mean it. Like Harry wasn’t the reason you got your father to buy your way onto the team...”

“He did NOT!”

“God, listen to us,” Ron said, with a sarcastic laugh. “Having the same fight we had when we were thirteen.”

“Pity you haven’t matured much since then, isn’t it?” spat Draco.

“Yeah, I’m the immature one, Mr can’t-clean-up-after-himself…”

Draco had stormed out at that point, and apparated straight to work. Ron had arrived a few minutes later, turned his back deliberately to Draco and proceeded to ignore him for the rest of the day.

Work was pretty unpleasant without Ron’s cheery companionship.

Draco had been in the job two months and felt fairly useless most of the time. He’d given several reports on Rowle and the rest of the Death Eaters to the Department. Anything he could remember he’d blurted out, thinking if he just kept talking, no one would ask questions about the rest of it. The stuff the Death Eaters had done to him was _separate_ , and no one needed to know. Sometimes he’d have to skirt close to the truth when Robarts began to question him:  why had he been in the room; how had he overheard this; for what reason would Rowle tell him the things he’d told him. _To frighten me while he fucked me_ never seemed like an answer he could give.

During one of these meetings (as Robarts called them. Interrogations, Draco would say) Draco had started to shake uncontrollably. It was humiliating. A jolt of magic had escaped him, shattering the glass of water he’d been holding and Robarts had sent instantly for Ron. Draco started a bad panic attack in the corridor afterwards but Ron got them both downstairs and then apparated them straight home. He’d found Harry’s potion for Draco, and had sat with an arm around him, waiting for the storm of tears that always afflicted Draco after taking it.

“You’re seeing a Healer tomorrow and getting your own potion. This one isn’t right, it shouldn’t upset you like this,” Ron had said with a worried frown, as Draco calmed at last. Draco nodded and let Ron pull him against his chest, too exhausted to argue.

There hadn’t been any more meetings since then. Draco knew that most of the Department had seen him after the meeting, holding onto Ron for dear life. Though he affected his usual arrogant attitude on his return, he knew everyone had seen him at his weakest. He almost despised them for not mentioning it to him.

He longed to be given a proper position in the Department instead of the piecemeal tasks he was currently being set. Something he’d have to use his brain for. But if he started making demands or refusing to do the tasks he felt were beneath him, it would only confirm to his colleagues what he thought they suspected - that he was Lucius Malfoy’s spoiled son pretending to have reformed to keep himself out of Azkaban.

Lost in thought, Draco hadn’t realised Peggy Perkins of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad was standing in front of his desk.

“Come on then,” she said, beckoning to Draco. “New job for you this morning.”

Draco followed her to a small desk in a dark corner, piled high with boxes and letters.

“What’s this?” he said.

“Harry Potter’s fan mail,” Peggy said. “He usually deals with the worst of it himself, but he’s away for a while, and some of these things get a bit unstable if they’re left alone.”

“Is this a joke?” Draco snapped.

“No joking matter, deactivating love spells,” Peggy said, and if she was trying not to smile she was hiding it well. “We left it a couple of weeks once before and one of the charms got corrupted and started affecting the department. There was an _incident_.” Her eyes travelled to Albert Hornsby who sat opposite Draco. He went pink and buried his head in some Magical Artefact forms.

“So I have to sit all day and read about how wonderful Potter is?” Draco said, his voice rising. “Am I being punished?”

Thinking he heard a chuckle, he turned sharply. Ron was steadfastly staring at some papers on his desk and gave no indication of even having noticed Draco.

“I was told you have the charm skills to deal with this sort of thing. Don’t you?” Peggy said sharply.

“I do,” Draco said, lifting his chin.

“Very good. Like I said, Potter usually deals with it himself. Finds it all a bit embarrassing. People get a bit over-the-top you know. He’s seen as a bit of a heart-throb.”

Draco opened his mouth to disagree vehemently with this, but Peggy seemed annoyed enough with him already, so he sat down abruptly instead. Something on the desk started singing loudly about dreamy green eyes the colour of sea foam.

This was going to be a very long day.

Too stubborn to make amends, Draco ate his lunch alone in the canteen, watching as Ron enjoyed lunch with Hermione and Percy. Of course he would go running back to her, Draco thought pettily. Well, fuck him then. Draco preferred eating lunch alone in any case, he told himself. Ron always ate like someone might steal his food at any moment, head bent over his plate, stuffing in huge mouthfuls.

He went straight out after work. Not having anywhere in particular to go, he went to his family’s unused town house in west London. He had had a wild plan of perhaps staying there for the night, but when he got there he remembered why he’d been staying at the Leaky Cauldron in the first place. Damp and freezing, the place had been neglected for years. No house elf would work for his family and he had no idea how to employ a housekeeper, so instead he had just ignored its existence. It might be habitable, he supposed, if he burned all the furniture covered in carvings of snakes, and got rid of whatever hideous thing was rattling in the locked cupboard in the drawing room.

He didn’t come home till after Ron was likely to be asleep, and then slept in Harry’s old room. About half an hour after he got in he heard a soft tap at his door, but he ignored it.

He left for work the next morning before Ron was up, feeling too embarassed about not answering the door to face him.

Another morning surrounded by Potter’s post did nothing for his mood. He was immersed in a letter on black parchment in green ink, trying to work out if there was an enchantment in the weird poem about Harry’s scar or just evidence of someone’s complete lack of boundaries, when Ron spoke.

“Draco,” he said.

Draco jumped out of his skin and managed to cut his finger on the edge of the letter.

“I need to talk to you later, ok?” Ron said. Draco’s heart thudded as he sucked his finger.

“At home? I mean, the flat?” he said.

“Yeah, home,” Ron’s eyes flickered to Draco’s mouth where he was still sucking his finger, then back up to his eyes.“See you.” He disappeared again.

 _Great_. Draco spent the afternoon panicking about what this conversation was going to entail. For God’s sake, why had he been so petty?

Hermione had probably turned Ron against him, reminded Ron what Draco was really like. He _had_ been nasty about the elf, his old prejudices surfacing effortlessly the minute he got challenged. And his jealousy of Ron and Harry’s bond constantly bubbled underneath everything. Add the sulking on top of that, and It had only been a matter of time before Ron got sick of the whole thing.

When he got home that evening, heart thudding with anticipation, he could hear Ron having a loud, cheerful floo-conversation with Harry and Ginny. Draco felt the nasty stab of loneliness he always felt when confronted by their friendship.

Passing the living room door he saw Ron sitting on the hearth rug and Harry and Ginny in the fireplace laughing at something he’d just said. He was probably asking Harry if he’d like to move back in once he got back. Draco slunk into Harry’s bedroom and slumped onto the bed. He could barely admit it, he had loved living here these past couple of months. Though it was non-magical, the flat was cheerful, clean and comfortable. There was always piping hot water, and something or other in the fridge to eat courtesy of Mrs Weasley, and the central heating was an utter revelation to Draco who was used to the freezing temperatures of the Manor.

To add insult to injury the house elf had thoughtfully lit a small fire in the grate in his room, and turned down his bed. He rolled over and groaned into the pillow.

He heard Ron exchanging goodbyes with Harry and Ginny and gave it a couple more minutes before emerging.

Ron was in the kitchen with his back to him. Draco took a deep breath.

“Hello,” he said, pleased at how normal his voice sounded. At least, hopefully, he wouldn’t make a scene or cry.

Ron turned around. He was wearing a large badge which said “Sorry.” He pressed it and the message changed to “badge makers are cool”

Draco blinked for a moment before bursting into relieved laughter. Ron grinned at him. “I made one for you, too,” he said, holding it out.

The message flashed “Emancipation for Elves!” and then “Gryffindor Rules”.

“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with you using my badge maker unsupervised,” Draco said.

“Maybe I’ve got my own,” Ron said, grinning even wider, and pulled Draco into a hug.

Draco leant against him for a moment, his hands on Ron’s chest. “Alright?” asked Ron, and kissed him. “Oh,” he said a moment later. “Hermione says you should read this.” He gave Draco a Ministry pamphlet about the emancipation and rehabilitation of House Elves and guidelines for employing one.

“She was the one who told me to get a grip and stop sulking by the way,” Ron went on. “She said I couldn’t expect you to be the bigger person because you’d come out of a...what was it? An evil racist cult, and if I wanted someone like you as a boyfriend then I’d have to do a lot of work re-somethinging you. I’m not sure about that last part, I’ll ask her tomorrow.”

Draco felt furious but there was nothing in what Ron had said that he could actually argue with. The ‘someone like you’ stung but he couldn’t exactly say he’d be as generous in Hermione’s place.

“Sounds like she had a lot to say about it,” he said, looking at the pamphlet.

“You have no idea,” said Ron.

“Look I’m sorry for saying those things about Harry,” Draco said. _Again_ , he added silently.

“It’s alright,” Ron said. “I get it. It It’s not like I’m perfect when it comes to being jealous. Just so happens that with you, there’s no one to be jealous about.”

“Because almost everyone I’ve ever slept with is dead or in prison?” Draco said.

“Where all exes belong,” Ron said solemnly. “Anyway, do you think Harry was the only one I was perving over in his Quidditch gear?” He slid his hands around to Draco’s  arse. “I mean, that Marcus Flint…” he gave a low whistle.

“Shut up,” said Draco, wrapping his arms around Ron.

“And there was this little blonde guy, an angry little shit, liked to have his robes tailored just so, to show off his assets…”

“I wasn’t showing off my assets, it’s just more aerodynamic if your robes are…”

“Ridiculously arse-hugging?” said Ron, grabbing him round the waist and lifting him onto the kitchen worktop. Draco only had time to let out a surprised sound before Ron was pressed between his legs, kissing him hard.

Draco sank against him and they kissed desperately; biting kisses that made them both breathless.

“God Draco I’ve been a walking erection for hours,” Ron said, panting. “Ever since you sat sucking your fucking finger while I was speaking to you earlier.”

“I cut it,” Draco said.

“Show me,” said Ron, and Draco did. “Looks painful,” Ron said, and sucked the injured finger into his mouth, curling his tongue around it. Draco gave an involuntary groan.

“Another,” Ron said, and Draco slid another of his fingers into Ron’s mouth. Ron sucked on them hard, palming Draco’s cock through his trousers and Draco felt dangerously close to coming already. But Ron pulled his mouth off Draco’s fingers slowly, and undid Draco’s fly. Draco’s cock sprang free immediately.

“No underwear?” Ron said hoarsely, his eyes going black.

“Think the house elf might be refusing to do my laundry,” Draco said. “Couldn’t find any…”

Ron, not listening, had wrapped his mouth around Draco and Draco forgot what he was saying. He moaned and bucked up and Ron slammed his hips back against the worktop and swallowed him deeper. Draco wasn’t even going to last a minute. He struggled against Ron just to feel his strength, and Ron gripped his hands tighter on Draco’s hips. He was probably holding him hard enough to bruise, and the thought of this made Draco moan and struggle harder. Ron had moved one hand onto his balls, stroking and squeezing the way that always sent him wild, and Draco lost control, spreading his legs and letting Ron overwhelm him. He cried out as his orgasm hit, his cock pulsing in Ron’s mouth.

He opened his eyes and Ron was watching him, hand wrenching at his own fly. Draco pulled him into a deep, filthy kiss, sucking on his tongue and tasting himself,  before sliding to his knees in front of him. Ron had managed to get his hand around his cock but Draco knocked his hand aside and began tugging him roughly, just the way Ron liked it. 

“Come on me,” Draco said, looking into Ron’s eyes. “Come on my face.”

“ _Fuck_ , Draco…” Ron managed, his hand clenching on the worktop. Draco moved his hand faster, feeling Ron get impossibly hard. Pressing his thumb to the sensitive spot just below the head of Ron’s cock, he felt Ron tense and tremble, then he shot all over Draco’s face with a low moan.

Ron leaned against the work-top, panting, and watched as Draco licked the come from his lips.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he said expressively. Draco smiled and licked again, and felt Ron’s cock twitch in his hand.

“Stop it, I can’t take it,” Ron said weakly, sliding to the floor.  Then he turned to Draco and cleaned him up as he always did. Draco liked Ron’s cleaning spell. It was always gentle, unlike some he’d experienced. 

“God I needed that,” Ron said, stroking Draco’s hair back from his face. “We need to confine our fights to 24 hours _max_ in future.” He stretched.  “Where did you go after work last night?”

“I went to take a look at my family’s London residence,” Draco said slightly pompously.

Ron screwed up his nose. “Bet that’s lovely. Wait, why did you do that?”

“Just...checking it,” Draco said, looking away.

“Did you think I was going to chuck you out just because we’d had a fight?” Ron said, eyes widening. “You did, didn’t you?”

Draco shrugged. Ron leant forward and kissed him gently.

“You’re an idiot. Fancy a takeaway?”

“You and your stomach,” Draco said.

“Sorry if I can’t survive on the Draco Malfoy diet of two peeled grapes and an oyster a day or whatever it is little rich boys eat,” Ron said.

“Shut up Weasley,” said Draco.

“Well I’m getting curry. And beer. You want a beer?” Ron accioed them from the fridge. Draco took one and got up, hauling Ron with him, and they went through and slumped on the sofa.

Ron rummaged for the remote control. Harry had insisted on getting a tv for the flat, and Ron’s dad had given him an ancient video recorder he’d found in a skip and painstakingly put back together with spells. Draco didn’t really see the appeal but Ron was delighted with it and had a stack of videos he’d got from a charity shop which he was inflicting on Draco one by one.

He’d made Draco watch a frankly ridiculous film just the other night about wizards, and they’d had to pause it because they were both laughing so much.

Draco looked at Ron as he frowned with concentration over the remote control, stabbing at it with a finger as though it might explode. He couldn’t always put this slightly baffled Ron together with the Ron who was so confident in bed, reducing him to an incoherent mess. All Draco knew was that he loved how dominant Ron could be when they were together like that.

“Galleon for them?” Ron said, glancing at him.

Draco shrugged.

“Is this about the Harry thing?” Before Draco could interrupt, Ron grabbed one of his hands and carried on. 

“I’ll tell you as often as you need to hear it - I’m not in love with him. I thought I was, but it was all mixed up with, I dunno, horcrux stuff and working out I was gay stuff. And then I thought he died, and...and...well, I got him back. And it felt...I dunno,” Ron said, looking down and threading his fingers through Draco’s. “We’re friends. We’ll always be friends and that’s not changing.”

“I believe you,” Draco said, as Ron’s disjointed speech rambled to an end. And he did. But he also believed that feelings changed all the time.

“You and me, it’s different, alright?”

Draco wasn’t entirely sure what that was meant to mean, but he didn’t feel like getting into it. “You mean blowjobs in the kitchen instead of sad unrequited pining?” he said instead.

“Oh was _that_ what you were thinking about?” said Ron, raising an eyebrow. “You’re going to have to let me carb up if you want a second round, I’m fucking knackered.”

Draco shook his head. The beer had hit his bloodstream and made him bold enough to ask.

“No, I was thinking...I really liked it just now when you held me down. Sometime I’d like it if you…” Draco took a breath. “Could you force me a bit more? Like, be rougher. We’d just be pretending,” he added, seeing Ron’s worried frown. “It just really...it turns me on.”

“So what, you’d be saying ‘no’, ‘don’t’ and stuff?” said Ron, biting his lip. “I dunno if that does it for me.”

“It wouldn’t be real,” said Draco. He felt himself harden at the thought.

“I could give it a try,” said Ron, a little unsure. “But I’m not going to humiliate you and all that, or call you names. And...how would I know if you want to stop for real?”

“We could have a word. Something I wouldn’t usually say when we’re fucking, like…” Draco smiled impishly. “Voldemort.”

Ron burst out laughing. “Fuck _off_ ,” he said. “I am not having sex with someone who might randomly shout out Voldemort. The big guy wouldn’t stand for it.”

“Please tell me ‘the big guy’ isn’t what I think it is,” said Draco.

“What?” Ron smirked. “You’ve said it yourself.”

“I have _never_ ,” Draco said, straddling Ron to emphasise his point, “called it ‘the big guy’.”

“Well maybe that’s my part of the deal. I get a bit rough with you, you go ‘oh no, put the big guy away, I can’t take it!’ and...” Draco held his beer threateningly over Ron’s head. “Alright, alright. This word then. How about Gryffindor?”

“Get lost Weasley.”

“Chudley Cannons.”

“Never. Slughorn,” countered Draco.

“Are you trying to put me off sex for life?” Ron spluttered.

“How about ‘finite’?” Draco said.

“Yeah,” said Ron. “That’ll work.” He slid his large hands around Draco’s waist. “So you finished interrupting this film with complaints about how unsatisfying your sex life is?” he said, kissing him lazily.

“Yeah for now,” Draco said, dipping his head and kissing Ron back. “If I think of anything else you can improve on I’ll let you know.”

“I’ll look forward to it. Right,” said Ron, lifting Draco off his lap and dropping him onto the sofa beside him. “We were almost at the best bit.”

Draco lay back against the arm of the sofa and stretched his legs across Ron’s lap as Ron hit play.

 

xxx  


Draco had lain awake a little while that night, thinking about what he’d asked Ron for earlier. Ron had at least not been disgusted by it. Maybe he would get used to the idea. It had taken Draco long enough to work out what he liked.

It had been after one of those initiation rituals where the Death Eaters had undressed him and taken it in turns to fuck him. It was almost boring to him now; he’d locked himself away in his head and let them get on with it. Afterwards they plugged him and dressed him again.

“You’ll keep that in during dinner,” Yaxley told him as he was pulled to his feet. Draco felt horribly full, as though the come would start to drip out of him at any moment. Yaxley began tucking Draco’s shirt in as he stood there unresisting, taking especial time to press down on his stomach as he did. “Think I can feel it all in there, you little slut,” he said. “You just took six of us without a sound. Did you come?”

Draco shook his head. He hadn’t even got hard but didn’t want to say so in case that was wrong.

After dinner Draco stood up and left the room, desperate to get upstairs to take the plug out and clean himself. Halfway up the staircase to his room, someone grabbed his hair and slammed him against the wall. Dolohov.

“Get off me,” Draco gasped, struggling, but his heart thumped with excitement. 

“I hear you must be very tired. I will see you to bed,” Dolohov said. He hadn’t been at the Manor at all that day and had missed out on the ritual earlier. “I get to tuck you in.” Winding his fingers more tightly in Draco’s hair he dragged him to his bedroom. Draco let him.

He threw Draco down on the bed and before Draco could struggle to a sitting position, he was on him, undressing him as he kicked, yanking his wrists behind him and tying them there. Dolohov pulled him up and Draco tried wriggling away, but that just earned him a hard slap across the face.  Draco let out a whimper, his cock hardening. He laughed at Draco’s arousal.

“You love this don’t you?”

“No...no,” Draco managed, trying to wriggle backwards on the bed.

“ _No, no_ ,” mimicked Dolohov. “Tell me then, Master Malfoy, to go. I will leave you quite alone.”

Draco looked up at him through eyes blurred with unshed tears, the slap burning on his cheek. He shook his head.

“What’s that? You want me to stay? You want me to deal with this little thing?” Dolohov gave Draco’s cock a nasty tug.

Draco dropped his gaze and nodded. Dolohov put a hand under his chin and tilted his face back up.

“What is it you want?”

Draco stayed mute. Dolohov slapped him again.

“Speak up,” he said.

“I want to be fucked. Please, sir,” Draco said quickly, his face on fire.

“Good boy,” Dolohov said. “Now, what position do I want my little doll in?” He rolled him over and laughed when he saw the plug. “Oh yes.”

Draco’s hole clenched around it reflexively as Dolohov began to tug at it. He started to tease him, almost pulling it out, pushing it in and out a little, then letting it sink back in again. His tender skin burned from the earlier fucking and Draco squirmed, his cock so hard that it was driving him insane. He rocked his hips against the bed as Dolohov pressed the plug against his prostate again and again.

“Sir, please,” he gasped. “Please. I...I need...”

“Not yet,” Dolohov said, yanking the plug out. Draco felt his hole clench and warm, sticky fluid flow out of him. Dolohov reached beneath him and massaged his belly. “Let it all out,” he said. “Push.”

Another gush of sperm came out, coating his inner thighs, and Draco gave a humiliated sob.

“That’s it. Ah, shame I missed out on the fun earlier.” Pulling Draco’s hips up, he palmed himself a couple of times and then shoved all the way inside him with a grunt.

Draco cried out against this rough intrusion though he tried to stay still. Dolohov wasn’t small and he stretched Draco’s sore hole painfully.

“Quiet,” said Dolohov. He picked up the plug and brought it to Draco’s mouth. “Open.” Draco opened as wide as he could, but still gagged when Dolohov pushed it into his mouth. He swallowed and swallowed again, trying to get himself under control, drooling and shuddering.

“Fuck,” Dolohov groaned, “Every time you choke I feel your wet little hole squeeze me. It make me so hot. You gonna finish me off quick.”

Draco was shaking with the effort of holding back his orgasm as Dolohov took him roughly, holding the plug firmly in place with one hand. He was grunting louder now, giving the plug an occasional shove to the back of Draco’s throat that made him gag and his muscles clamp down on Dolohov’s cock.

Dolohov’s hand on his hip gripped hard enough to bruise as he came. He pulled out roughly, and Draco would have screamed at the pain of that if his mouth hadn’t been full. Instead he lay still as Dolohov finished over his back, tears running down his cheeks.

At last, Dolohov pulled the plug out of Draco’s mouth. He shoved him over onto his back.

“Legs up,” he said. Draco lifted his shaking legs. He was so tired but his cock was still painfully hard. “Higher.” He shoved the plug back into Draco who cried out.

“N-no. Please sir, take it out. It hurts,” Draco said, safe in the knowledge that Dolohov would do no such thing. It did hurt, but he loved it, because he was a sick, twisted little...

Dolohov was stroking Draco’s cock now. “You try and push it out. Let me see you.” He twisted one of Draco’s nipples viciously and Draco arched up in pain, earning himself another slap.

“Keep your legs up.”

Draco bore down on the plug, feeling it come part-way out before sliding back in again.  He panted. Dolohov moved his hand faster. “You push that out, you can come,” he said. Draco closed his eyes in humiliation and tried again. The plug pushed out a little further this time, and it was even more painful when his body sucked it back in. He moaned helplessly.

“You’re too loose aren’t you,” Dolohov taunted. “Nothing left to push with. Just a little slut stretched wide-open.”

It took Draco a minute before he could try again and in that minute Dolohov’s hand was relentless on his cock. All the while Dolohov was murmuring about what a mess he looked, and how his pathetic little cock was leaking and how stretched out he was, his other hand twisting Draco’s nipples and giving sharp little slaps to the face. Draco felt desperate. He pushed again, the pressure on his prostate making his cock jump in Dolohov’s hand. The final drag of the plug as it left him finished him off. He spilled in hard jerks over Dolohov, Dolohov’s hand clamped down over his mouth and nose so he couldn’t make a sound.

Dolohov dragged Draco back up to a sitting position and Draco opened his mouth obediently to clean off Dolohov’s hand.

Dolohov pulled his fingers away from Draco’s mouth at last. “I wouldn’t be so cruel to you, little Malfoy, if you didn’t love it so much,” he said.

He left Draco tear-stained and filthy and utterly ashamed.

Draco didn’t want Ron to make him feel worthless like that, and Ron wouldn’t enjoy it anyway. But he craved to be used.

 

Xxxx

 

The rest of the work week passed uneventfully. Draco even managed to get through a lunch in the canteen with Ron and Hermione. It had started off with him apologising to her of course, as he was supposed to apologise to everyone. Sometimes he felt like sending a howler to the whole Ministry saying “I’m fucking sorry I was an evil racist! But I bet you aren’t perfect either!” He’d said as much to Ron once, and Ron had laughed his head off and told him it was the most Draco Malfoy plan he’d ever heard of and that he definitely should never do it.

This apology was a difficult one. It was both important and long overdue, and he tried to do it properly but who knew if he’d succeeded. Once that particular humiliation was over lunch hadn’t been too bad.  Hermione obviously still couldn’t stand him, but they’d managed to have a half-decent conversation about vanishing charms, so that was something.

Draco had the whole of Saturday to himself as Ron had a duty shift on Knockturn Alley. On days like this he wished he had friends, not that he’d ever admit it. He’d wander around Muggle London sometimes, something his family had always warned him against because of how violent and untrustworthy Muggles were. Turned out, that was a load of rubbish. And he’d got himself a secret McDonalds habit. There was something so _other_ about eating little separate portions of food in paper packaging that he couldn’t resist it, even if it didn’t taste all that great.

Today he’d just hung around the flat. He’d had a long shower, and was in his bedroom with a towel around his waist, searching for anything clean at all to wear, when he heard the front door bang. Ron was back early. Draco’s mood lifted.   _Maybe they could go out to the pub or something_. Draco tugged on his jeans quickly, not bothering with underwear.

He was just pulling a t-shirt over his head when Ron came into the room and pounced on him from behind, one arm around his waist and the other across his chest. Draco struggled.

“Ron…” he began, which turned into an undignified squeal as Ron whirled him round and threw him over his shoulder. “What are you _doing_?”

Ron patted him reassuringly on the arse.

“House Rules, mate,” he said. “You left these…” he dangled Draco’s underpants from a finger, “on the bathroom floor again.”

“I was just about to pick them up!” Draco protested, wriggling, but not quite hard enough to escape. Ron marched him across the hall and into his own room where he flipped him off his shoulder and onto the bed with a bounce. He looked down at Draco and shook his head.

“House Rules,” he repeated. “Now, what will we do with you?”

Draco looked up at him. Ron was wearing a filthy smile and his full Auror robes and Draco wondered to himself why the hell he hadn’t got Ron to wear them in bed before.

He swallowed. “I was just about to pick them up,” he said again.

“Did I say you could speak?” Ron said, folding his arms and frowning. “I ask the questions.”

Draco let out a sound not unlike a whimper, and bit down on his lip to shut himself up.

“Stand up,” Ron said. Draco scooted over to the end of the bed and got to his feet.

Ron looked him over.

“That’s not yours, is it?” he said, flipping up the hem of the tshirt Draco was wearing with a finger. Draco looked down. Who owned what when it came to tshirts had started to get a bit blurred, although Draco’s were usually a bit small for Ron. This one, he realised, which he’d put on in such a rush, said “Chudley Cannons” on it. He looked up at Ron.

“Another broken rule,” Ron said. “Take it off.”

Draco hesitated. “No,” he said.

“You going to be difficult?” Ron said.

“I don’t want to take it off,” Draco said quietly, his heart thudding and his cock hardening.

“Right then,” said Ron unfolding his arms. Before Draco could react, Ron was on him, wrenching both his arms into the air and holding him by the wrists. The t-shirt was yanked over Draco’s head and off. Ron pulled something out of his pocket - a thin rope of some sort - and tied Draco’s wrists together behind his back, and Draco struggled, overbalancing. Ron got a hand in his hair and pulled him back up and onto the bed. The painful tug of his hair flooded Draco with arousal.

“Stop it, you’re hurting,” he said, feeling Ron’s fingers tighten against his scalp.

“That’s what happens if you break rules,” Ron said, tugging Draco’s head back. Then releasing him, he picked Draco’s wand up, and pushed it into his tied hands. Their eyes locked. The message was unspoken - though they’d agreed on a word, Ron wanted him to have the extra reassurance of magic.

“Think I’ve decided what your punishment’s going to be,” Ron said, leaning over and pulling Draco’s jeans open.

His cock was immediately exposed, hard and flat against his stomach. Ron reached over and rubbed his thumb slowly across the head of it. Draco whimpered against his will.

“A really hard fucking,” Ron said, and slapped Draco’s cock lightly. 

“No,” Draco breathed.

“Not up to you,” Ron said, pulling Draco’s jeans down and off, and throwing them aside.

“ _No_ ,” said Draco, his heart thumping hard with excitement. “I don’t want…”

He tried to move backwards on the bed but Ron grabbed him by the ankles and yanked him roughly down onto his back.

“Spread your legs,” Ron said shortly and Draco clamped them closed. “Alright, if that’s the way you want it,” he said, and flipped Draco onto his stomach.

“Let go!” Draco said, struggling. Ron put a large hand on the small of Draco’s back and pinned him down.

“That's three," Ron said. "One: underpants on the bathroom floor,” he said, and pulled Draco’s thighs firmly apart. “Two: wearing a Chudley Canons shirt while being a filthy Wimbourne Wasps supporter,” he hitched Draco up onto his knees so his arse was in the air. “Three: disobeying a direct order from an Auror.”

“ _Junior_ Auror,” Draco gasped. He felt Ron’s wand pressing against his hole. Squirting lube onto Draco, Ron slid a finger inside him. Draco whined and squirmed.

“Take it out,” he said. “I’m...I’m not going to break any more rules.”

“Sorry, don’t believe you,” Ron said, and began sliding his finger in and out, slowly. Draco moaned as Ron stroked over his prostate, his thighs beginning to tremble.

“ _Please_ …oh god...”

“‘Please’? You want more?” Ron said, and pressed another finger inside him inch by inch.

Draco bucked and tried to squirm away. “They’re too big,” he gasped.

“Stay still,” Ron growled.

“Stop,” Draco said. He struggled again, pushing against Ron’s thigh with his heel. Ron knocked his foot away, pushing his fingers in further and stroking just behind Draco’s balls with his thumb. Draco had never felt anything so intense, this pressure on his most sensitive spot from the inside and outside simultaneously. He rocked against Ron's hand. Ron pressed harder and moved his fingers more quickly.

“No,” Draco almost sobbed, the feeling overwhelming him.  “It’s too much...it’s…”

Ron took his fingers out. “You want me to stop?” Draco only moaned, his cock leaking beneath him.

“What did you say?” Ron said.

“ _No_ ,” Draco said.

Ron stroked his hands down Draco’s back and grabbed his waist. Flipping Draco onto his back, he slid his fingers back in deep, taking hold of Draco’s cock with his other hand.

“ _Don’t_ …” Draco said, closing his eyes with pleasure. Ron was fucking Draco hard with the full length of his fingers now, and Draco could feel himself opening around them. He tried to sit up, his cock was flushed dark pink and wet at the tip, bobbing helplessly as he struggled against Ron.

“Lie down,” Ron ordered. Draco ignored him.

Ron slammed Draco’s hips back against on the bed. “You need to start behaving,” he said.

“ _Oh_. Don’t hit me,” Draco gasped, turning his cheek towards Ron. Ron’s eyes locked on his and Draco hoped he caught his meaning. Ron gave him a long look, then pushed a third finger inside Draco.

Draco almost came right there and then. He was so full and so helpless, his wrists tied, cock gripped in Ron’s fist. He cried out in agonised pleasure and kicked at Ron.

Ron took a breath and, looking him right in the eye, slapped him across the face.

Draco whimpered, turning his face so Ron could reach his other cheek. Ron hesitated for a tiny moment before slapping Draco again.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Draco managed, his body convulsing. Ron got his hand back onto Draco’s cock just as he started to come, jerking in Ron’s grip as his body clamped down again and again around the fingers inside him. Ron kept stroking him right through it, pulsing his fingers inside Draco. It was as though Draco’s orgasm wouldn’t stop. His whole body started to tremble as he cried out, not sure if he wanted to get away or for Ron to keep going forever. His heels scuffed against the bed.

“I can’t...I can’t stop coming,” he whispered. “ _Please_ …” He was shaking all over. But Ron was relentless, keeping going until Draco was incoherent, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

“Enough, please, enough,” he gasped.

“Is that the truth?” Ron murmured into his ear. “Because this,” he stroked Draco’s sensitive cock from root to tip, making Draco writhe, “looks pretty interested. I think I can get another one out of you.”

“No,” Draco said helplessly, as Ron stroked him again. “Stop.” But his cock was flushed and still half hard, his thighs trembling. 

Ron pulled his fingers out slowly, dragging another aftershock from Draco. Sitting back, he pulled something out of his robes. In the palm of his hand lay two small metallic butterflies.

“What...?” Draco said.

“I just spent four bloody hours stationed outside a sex shop on Knockturn Alley,” Ron said. “You can’t blame me if I got some ideas.” Pointing his wand at the butterflies they began to flutter in his hand before rising into the air.

“ _Butterflies_ , Weasley? What sort of…” Draco’s sentence ended in a gasp as the butterflies attached themselves to his nipples. “Oh _God_.” He struggled and tried to shake them off as they began to pinch and tease at him. Each little squeeze and flutter seemed wired directly to his cock and within moments he was a mess of overstimulation, his cock fully hard again.

“They won’t come off,” Ron said. “Though it’s fun watching you try.” He had shrugged his robes off and opened his fly, palming himself lazily as he watched Draco. Draco panted, watching Ron’s cock get fully hard in his hand. Fuck he was big. 

“God they’re pretty aren’t they?” Ron said, flicking one of the butterflies with his finger. He bent down and kissed Draco’s panting mouth as Draco moaned. “Should have got one for your cock.” Ron took off the rest of his clothes and leant down over Draco, swallowing his desperate little cries with deep kisses. Ron had begun touching Draco’s cock again, stroking it lightly before sliding his hand down and pressing a finger or two inside him.

“No,” Draco said. “No don’t. It...you stretched me too much already.”

Ron just kissed him again and set both butterflies fluttering with a flick of his finger. Draco writhed, crying out and Ron pressed two fingers back inside him.

“Feels nice and tight in here to me,” he murmured against Draco’s ear. Draco could feel Ron’s cock sliding against his stomach, nudging his own.

“I can’t take you,” Draco whimpered. Ron took his fingers out and replaced them with his thumb.

“Course you can. Show me how you’ll fuck me,” Ron said.

“Wh-what?” Draco said.

“Fuck yourself onto me. Show me.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Draco said.

“Every time you say that I’ll add a finger,” Ron said, biting on Draco’s lip hard. Draco moaned and started to move.

“That’s it,” Ron said as Draco dug his heels into the bed and struggled to slide up and down his thumb. “You open yourself up again.”

He teased Draco with his other hand, flicking at the nipple clamps and running his thumb tantalisingly around the head of Draco’s cock. Draco moved faster on Ron’s thumb, wanting more but refusing to beg. Small moans kept escaping him as he pressed up against Ron trying to get some relief from the relentless teasing.

“Good boy,” Ron said, and grinned. “Think you’re ready now, aren’t you?”

“Not...not a boy,” Draco gasped. “Fuck off.”

Ron only grinned again and sat up. Draco blinked up at him as Ron pushed Draco’s knees back against his stomach, and sank his cock all the way into Draco in one slow, hard push.

Draco let out a long sobbing moan as Ron filled him. They’d fucked so many times, but he was so sensitive and overstimulated that Ron’s cock almost felt bigger than he could handle. But his cock was jerking with every small push of Ron's, and he could feel an orgasm starting to build again.

Ron was panting, fingers gripping Draco’s sides as he tried to get back control.  “I’m not...going to last.” He rolled his hips, pushing in deeper. “ _Fuck_. Feels so good.”

“Yes,” Draco moaned, feeling his whole body tightening around Ron as Ron started to move. Ron fucked into him slow and deep, each stroke of his cock sending Draco half wild. He was lost in sensation, incoherent noises spilling from him.

He felt his mind reach out towards Ron’s accidentally and tried to pull back, but Ron leant his forehead to Draco’s.

“It’s ok. You’re beautiful. I’ll show you,” he said, and let Draco in.

Suddenly Draco could see himself through Ron’s eyes, arched back against the bed. Streaked with his own come, face still flaming with the mark of Ron’s hand, the clamps glittered on his nipples. He was stretched wide around Ron’s cock and as he watched he began to move faster, sliding more of Ron’s cock inside himself; watching as his body just took it. He looked like an utter slut.

“Oh god Draco, _yes_.” Draco pulled his mind back for a moment to look at Ron, his blue eyes almost black, the muscles working in his freckled shoulders as he powered into Draco. He sped up, skin slapping against skin. “Oh fuck,” he was gasping. “Oh _fuck_.”

“Harder,” said Draco, though Ron was already fucking him harder than he ever had before. Draco dipped in and out of Ron's mind; the sight of himself tied up and being fucked without mercy was too irresistable. But Ron was too far gone to last long and Draco moaned hopelessly as he felt Ron start to come, taking Draco with him. Their minds snagged - Draco was suspended between his own thoughts and Ron’s as both orgasms shuddered through him. He wrapped his legs around Ron’s back, holding him inside him for as long as possible.

They clung together, breathing hard, for a long moment.

Draco heard Ron whispering ‘finite incantatem’ and felt his wrists come free and the butterflies detach.  He wriggled his arms out from behind his back and Ron caught one of his wrists, kissing the red mark left by the rope. Draco stroked Ron’s hair with his other hand, not quite able to speak.

“So...was that alright?” Ron said at last. “I didn’t hurt you or...you didn’t say the word so I thought…”

“It was amazing,” said Draco. He tilted his head back and gave Ron a  soft kiss. He felt completely dazed. He’d just had the sort of sex he’d longed for, but it hadn’t left him feeling used or humiliated. It had just been _good_. So good. He couldn’t quite believe it.

Ron was looking at Draco with that absurdly fond look on his face that always confused him so much, and he lost his train of thought.

“Right, well, good. I thought I might feel like a bit of a dick, but I got quite into it.”

“I liked the big mean Auror act,” Draco said.

“What act? I _am_ a big mean Auror,” Ron said.

“Now I’m worried about what you do when you really arrest someone,” Draco said.

“You should,” Ron said, grinning hugely and Draco rolled his eyes.

“If I'd known I'd have asked to be arrested ages ago," he said and Ron laughed against his hair.

"So what about you?” Draco said after a moment. “Is there anything you’d like to try?” He was feeling sleepy and generous, and anyway Ron was pretty vanilla at heart.

“Wellll,” Ron said. “There was some very interesting underwear in that shop that I’m _definitely_ thinking about buying. But there’s something you can do this weekend if you like.”

Draco hesitated, then nodded.

“Come with me to mum and dad’s for Sunday lunch tomorrow.”

“What?” said Draco, sitting up, wide awake at once. “No way.”

“Yes way,” said Ron, pulling him back down beside him again.

“No. Fuck off. _Finite_!” Draco said, and Ron laughed. Draco glared at him.

“Will all your brothers be there?”

“Well, probably not Charlie, but the rest, yeah.”

“This is totally unfair,” Draco said. “They all hate me.”

“Isn’t it terrible, when you like them all so much,” Ron said dryly.

“And you’d be over the moon to come for dinner at the Manor of course,” Draco snapped.

“That’s different,” Ron said.

“I don’t see why,” Draco said.

“Yes you do Draco, shut up,” Ron said. “And stop trying to start a fight out of nothing so we fall out and you don’t have to go.”

“I am not,” Draco tried, opening his eyes wide and trying to look innocent.

“That face doesn't work on me," Ron said, and Draco relaxed back into a frown. "Anyway, we have to do it some time,” said Ron looking determined. “We've been seeing each other for months, and we're living together now. They'll just have to get over it.”

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, tugging on his underwear.

“Alright. As long as you know its a terrible, terrible idea and you're mad if you think it'll go well,” Draco said sulkily. Ron stretched and grinned at him.

“Thanks a lot. Love you too,” he said casually, before strolling out of the room towards the kitchen.

Draco stared after Ron. _Had he said…? Did that mean…_

“You want pizza?” yelled Ron from the kitchen.

 _Do you love me?_ Draco wanted to yell back, but stopped himself. It was just a turn of phrase. No need to be so literal.

“Ok!” he yelled instead. Then covered his face with his hands and took a big breath. Ok.


	2. Chapter 2

“So what happened when your family found out you like men?” Draco asked as they got ready to go the next day. He still hadn’t broached the subject with his own parents, but it loomed over the conversation like a hippogryph in the room every time he visited them.

“I dunno, it wasn’t really a big thing in the end,” Ron shrugged. He pulled a t-shirt over his head. “Percy’s the same, not that he ever goes out with anyone. Or at least, he doesn't tell us if he does. And Charlie isn’t bothered about either. Mum and dad just let us get on with it, basically.”

“But have you ever brought someone for Sunday lunch before?” Draco said, tweaking fussily at the cuffs of his shirt.

“Well, Harry. And Hermione. But...no. Not a boyfriend,” Ron said.

“So, me. I’m the first. A Malfoy,” Draco said, anxiety building in his chest. “Our families have hated each other for generations and you think it’s going to be quite alright to bring me along and say ‘hello mother, here’s the guy I’m fuc…’”

“I swear Draco Malfoy, if you say anything about fucking to my mum,” Ron said threateningly. “Look, I’m pleased you even care what they think of you, but just chill out. Mum will be fine.” Ron took Draco’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s dad who’ll be the problem.” And with that he apparated them both to the Burrow.

They stood for a moment at the hedge by the gate, Ron still holding Draco’s hand tightly. Draco looked at the house and swallowed. It was ramshackle and friendly looking, and exuded Weasley from every brick. It was everything he despised, or at least had affected to. He didn’t belong here.

“This is so bloody stupid,” he said, panic rising. “The last time I saw your mother she was…” he gulped air. “My Aunt Bellatrix…”

“...was a crazed, violent murderer,” Ron finished for him. “Sorry if she had a sweet side and read you bedtime stories as she tucked you in with your toy basilisk, but it’s true. And that was the war, Draco.”

And Draco knew he shouldn’t dwell on it. It was hopeless thinking about who did what in that battle, because if nothing else, that meant looking at himself and the unforgivable things he’d done in his cowardice and…

“Mmmph,” he said, as Ron gave up reasoning with him and kissed him instead. Draco found himself pressed firmly but not uncomfortably into the hedge as Ron decided to distract him from his panic. It was working pretty well. So well in fact that he almost forgot where they were and was just pushing his knee between Ron’s legs when a double ‘pop’ sound brought them back to earth.

Bill and Fleur had appeared beside them.

Bill’s eyes narrowed and he gave Draco the briefest of nods. Fleur on the other hand looked delighted.

“Ah this is Draco that your father is so angry about!” she said. “Welcome to the Sunday lunch. You will not need to eat again till tomorrow.”

“Fleur, dad didn’t say…” Bill said.

“Then it was some other boy that he said ‘he’s a danger to my son’ about? Ron you have many dangerous boys? You always liked Harry of course, zat was obvious. This one is even more reckless?”

Ron’s face was on fire. Draco would have found it all very amusing if Fleur hadn’t turned back to him.

“I remember you from the tournament at Hogwarts,” she said, looking at Draco more closely. “You are an ‘andsome boy but very boastful, I found you very annoying. I’m sure you ‘ave grown out of that, yes?”

“Um,” Draco said weakly. “Yes I think so.”

“Tres bon,” Fleur said. “Shall we?” she opened the gate and they trailed through behind her.

Ron tightened his grip on Draco’s hand. “I’m shitting it too, if it helps,” he murmured. It did.

The door of The Burrow was flung open by George Weasley who lounged in the doorframe and watched them all approach with a grin on his face.

“Alright, Ronniekins?” he said. “Mum’s _very_ excited to see you today. No idea why. She made me get Aunt Muriel’s china out of the attic and everything.”

“For heaven’s sake George, let your brothers in,” Mrs Weasley said, coming to the door behind George.

“Hello Mum,” Ron said and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You know Draco,” he said, and tugged Draco forward.

“Yes, hello dear,” she said warmly, but cast a sidelong look at her husband who was standing silently at the other side of the room.

“Hello Mrs Weasley,” Draco said abruptly. He caught sight of himself in the mirror over the mantle and saw that he was wearing one of his more arrogant expressions out of fright. He tried to smile but that just made him look smug, so he gave it up as a bad job. He couldn’t help if his face was naturally sneery. Ron saw past it, so the Weasleys would just have to lump it.

“Can we eat now Mum?” George said. “I’m starving.”

“Go and take the pie out of the oven if you’re so hungry,” Mrs Weasley said, turning away. “Make yourself useful.” She shooed George into the kitchen ahead of her. Ron followed, still gripping Draco’s hand tightly.

Percy arrived then too, slightly pink and disheveled. “Sorry,” he said. “I, um, overslept. There was a reception last night at the Ministry for visiting Quidditch players, and the Minister insisted I…”

“Snog Viktor Krum?” George butted in. Percy went even pinker, his hand going to his face. He did look suspiciously stubble-burnt.

“We all reckon Percy’s been seeing Krum on the sly,” Ron murmured to Draco. “He won’t admit it though.”

“Lucky bastard,” Draco whispered back, and Ron chuckled.

“Tell me about it,” he said. “If I’d known Krum liked freckles and red hair I’d’ve been in there like a rat up a drainpipe.”

“Oh _really?_ ” said Draco, feigning outrage. He jammed a finger into Ron’s ribs and Ron nudged him back.

“So would you and you know it,” Ron said smiling. Draco had a momentary vision of being fucked by both of them together and felt his face redden. Ron raised an eyebrow at him and Draco shook his head.

“Come along everyone!” Mrs Weasley said. “Sit down!”

The general bustle and noise of the Weasleys sitting down around the kitchen table distracted Draco from the glowering presence of Mr Weasley. Everyone was squeezed around the kitchen table in a most disconcerting way, but it did mean he had an excuse to press his leg against Ron’s without any comment.

Despite the welcome, and the lack of any comment from Ron’s brothers, Draco still found his discomfort rising. He felt as though everyone was sneaking glances at him when he wasn’t looking, and he kept being seized with a hysterical impulse to say, “Thanks Mrs Weasley. Do you remember that time you killed my Aunt?” Instead he took an enormous forkful of cottage pie and rammed it into his mouth to be safe. Then of course he choked and drew even more attention to himself. Ron thumped him on the back unhelpfully.

“So,” said Mrs Weasley brightly. “I hear you work with Ron at the Ministry now, Draco.”

Draco, still wiping tears from his cheeks, could only nod.

“Yeah, it’s proving really useful, having Draco’s viewpoint,” Ron said. “There’s all sorts of stuff we didn’t know about the Death Eaters set-up. I really think we’ve got a chance of capturing what’s left of them.”

“Are you still in contact with the organisation now?” Mrs Weasley said sharply to Draco.

“Of course he isn’t, dad,” Ron protested.

“Unless you count being kidnapped and tortured by them, then no,” Draco said testily. Ron shot him a look. “And I’ve told the department all I know.”

“Well, we know they have a new leader, but it’s unclear who that is,” Ron said.

“Have you thought about…” Mr Weasley stopped. “What’s his clearance?” he said, nodding at Draco.

“Same as mine,” Ron said, and Mr Weasley’s eyes widened.

“Really? Sometimes I wonder what the Minister was thinking, giving that Department to Robarts. He seems to make the most reckless decisions.”

Draco glowered at his plate.

“You seemed happy enough with his decisions when he made me and Harry Aurors,” Ron said.

“That’s an entirely separate issue. Although perhaps Robarts is thinking of using Draco like a second Professor Snape?”

“No!” Draco said. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Well that isn’t really up to you, is it? If Robarts thinks it would be useful…”

“No,” Draco said again, hearing the note of hysteria in his voice. “I mean, I won’t do it. I’ve told Robarts that. I know what happens when you’ve betrayed them. I’ve seen what they do to people and…”

“Draco, it’s ok,” Ron said, putting a hand on his thigh. “No one expects you to do that, not after what you’ve gone through.”

“What _he’s_ gone through?” spluttered Mr Weasley.

“Yes,” Ron said to his dad, his blue eyes steely suddenly.

“Perhaps we should change the subject,” Percy said uncomfortably. “I mean mum and Bill and George shouldn’t be hearing this at all…”

“Oh shut up Percy, stop being such a jobsworth,” George said, and an argument erupted.

“We’ll do the dishes shall we, mum?” Ron said, raising his voice above the tumult. Draco shot him a look.

“That would be very helpful darling,” Mrs Weasley said, as Ron stood up, waving his wand and clattered a pile of plates together.

Draco followed him into the kitchen. “Do you really not have a house elf?”

“No we really don’t,” Ron said with a small smile. He guided the plates into the sink. “We offered to pay for one when we all started getting jobs, but mum said it’s just her and dad at home now so there’s no point. Go on then. Why don’t you start us off?”

Draco looked at the sink in bemusement, sensing Ron watching him. He shot some water into it, but it was cold, so he heated it with another spell but it still didn’t seem quite right. He tried to add suds but a large bar of lemon scented bath soap appeared in the water instead.

“Don’t you even know a washing up spell?” Ron said, more curious than mocking. “Haven’t you ever had to clear up after yourself?”

He leaned around Draco and muttered the spell. A few years ago Draco would have sneered at Ron for being poor enough to know how to wash up; now he felt like he was the idiot for not having learned things a kid would know. He almost spat an insult at Ron but stopped himself.

“My mother said my hands were too precious for manual labour because I have the delicate skin of the LeStranges,” he said instead, knowing how much this would amuse Ron.

Ron laughed for a full minute before Draco splashed him with soap suds and he gathered himself, wiping his eyes. But he didn’t let it drop.

“What about at...I dunno, trainee Death Eater camp or something?”

“We didn’t cook. We’d send Yaxley out to pick up pizzas,” Draco said.

“You did not,” Ron said, delighted.

“No of course we didn’t. There’s no such thing as trainee Death Eater camp, you idiot.”

“Oh. Well. That’s good,” Ron said, looking a bit disappointed.

Draco pointed his wand at a plate which hovered above the sink for a moment before dropping back in and soaking him.

“This is going well,” he said.

“Well they seem to like you,” Ron lied.

“They can’t stand me. They probably think I’ve messed with your brain and done something to you to make you go out with me,” Draco said, petulantly throwing cutlery into the sink.

“Your dad was Voldemort’s chief bum-licker, of course they’re going to be a bit wary,” Ron said. He slid his hands around Draco’s waist. “Doesn’t run in the family by any chance does it? Bum licking skills. Because I really wouldn’t mind…”

“Shut up,” Draco hissed. Ron chuckled into the back of his neck and ground against him. Draco felt a flash of arousal, imagined Ron just taking him right here at the sink, his arms up to the elbows in soap suds. He pushed back against Ron and heard Ron’s breath catch as he tightened his hands on Draco’s hips.

“You wearing any underwear?” Ron growled in his ear.

“Yeah,” Draco said, cursing himself. The house elf had forgiven him at last and he had drawerfuls of clean clothes.

“Which ones?” Ron had one hand rubbing hard against Draco’s erection through his jeans. He started to tug at Draco’s fly.

“The...the red ones.” He arched up against Ron’s hand. “Ron, you’ve got to stop,” he gasped, hoping he’d do no such thing.

Heavy footsteps sounded outside the kitchen door and Ron sprang away from Draco.

George stuck his head around the door. “Did I stamp loud enough?” he said, grinning. Draco felt his face flame red. George held out a stack of plates. “Here, forgot these.” Draco took them from him.

“You’re flying low mate,” he said to Draco, pointing to Draco’s crotch.

“Thank you George, you can bugger off now,” said Ron, shoving him back out of the kitchen. Draco heard George laughing all the way back along the hall.

“Right, where were we?” Ron said, bending to kiss Draco’s neck again.

But an argument had started up in the room next door. Draco could hear Mr and Mrs Weasley, with the odd interjection from Ron’s brothers.

“...obviously not thinking straight and this Malfoy boy has turned his head…”

“...absolute nonsense, look at the friends Ron chose at school. He’s a very good judge of character. Draco can’t help his upbringing…”

“...an actual Death Eater! Don’t think I missed the scar on his arm…”

“He was sixteen years old when he did that and can you imagine the pressure to…”

“All very well, but his entire family…”

“Well look at Regulus Black!”

A door slammed and the voices became muffled. Ron stared at Draco a little stricken.

Suddenly, it all felt too much. This nonsense of playing happy families with the Weasleys, and this ridiculous idea that he and Ron could actually be together; it was just stupid. All of it. Everyone must be laughing at him and pitying Ron. Everyone must be just waiting for Draco to slip, or for Ron to realise he had been bewitched or whatever people thought Draco was up to. No. It had to stop.

“I need to talk to you,” Draco ground out.

“Alright,” said Ron. The voices in the next room had fallen silent. “Just going to show Draco the garden!” Ron yelled, throwing open the back door. Draco stormed through it and down the path towards the lawn.

“Hey!” Ron said. “Slow down will you?”

Draco stopped and rounded on him. Ron looked at him, a small frown on his open, freckled face. Draco felt a horrible tightness in his chest, a mixture of worry and anger and something else that he couldn’t quite admit to himself. Anger won.

“Just what are you playing at Weasley?” he demanded.

“What?”

“All this,” he waved his hands vaguely around.

“All the...badly cut grass?” Ron said.

“All the standing up for me against your family! And pissing your dad off! And making me sound like I’m actually helping at the Ministry.”

“Yeah, I’m being a total dick,” said Ron, rolling his eyes.

“I just don’t understand what you’re trying to do!” Draco burst out.

“I’m not trying to do anything you bloody weirdo,” Ron said. Draco carried on as though he hadn’t heard.

“You don’t need to say things you don’t mean.”

“What are you talking about?” Ron said, sounding genuinely confused.

Draco met Ron’s eyes defiantly.

“Yesterday, you said “love you too”. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he said.

Ron sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

“What do you think it means?” he countered.

“Ron…” Draco began.

“Sorry - alright. It means...just that.” Ron looked incredibly uncomfortable. At least that made two of them.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but it has, so there we go, “ Ron carried on, biting his lip. “You don’t need to worry about it - Hermione said you’d have trouble forming meaningful relationships for a while, what with the evil racist cult and everything. It doesn’t matter if you don’t feel the same way, it doesn’t change anything.”

“Of course…” Draco became wordless; strangled with rage. He paced away from Ron for a moment before turning back. Ron was looking at him, not angrily, just calmly. Reasonably. This infuriated Draco beyond belief. He was sick and tired of being treated like a faulty curse that might go off.

“Of course I bloody feel the same way!” he screamed. Ron’s mouth fell open in shock and Draco vaguely heard a window banging shut at the house. Draco tried to get control of himself; this wasn’t the moment to start channelling Aunt Bellatrix. But more words kept tumbling out of him in an emotional tangle.

“Why wouldn’t I? You... _you_ …” Draco pointed at Ron fiercely as though there might be any doubt who he was talking about. “If you’re not _saving_ my life you’re fixing it; you’re always just _there_ when I need… And you treat me like I’ve never done any of the shit I did, but you don’t let me get away with...And when we fuck it’s so good I feel like I’m going to _die_. And now I’ve got a flat and a job and a boyfriend who’s kind to me, and I don’t know...I... _what I want to know_ ,” Draco stabbed Ron’s chest with his forefinger, “Is what. Do. You. Mean. By. It?”

Ron rocked back a little from the force of Draco’s finger, but otherwise didn’t move. Draco stood, breathing hard, hoping Ron would speak before the sliding realisation of how fucking ridiculous he was being took over entirely and he ran away.

“Well,” Ron said eventually, clearly trying not to smile. “Hermione said you might have a freak out at some point, but this has turned out to be a lot more impressive than I imagined.”

“Fuck _off_ with what Hermione said!” Draco yelled. He felt shaky and idiotic, like he might cry.

“She said you’d say that,” said Ron. “Sorry. Kidding. Look, c’mere.” Ron reached out and took Draco by the shoulders. He started to say something, but one look at Draco’s face made him wrap his arms around him and draw him close instead.

“It’s alright,” Ron said. Draco buried his face in Ron’s shoulder. “It’s just - I suppose I’ve fallen for you and I like making you happy. Maybe I’ve been a bit much.”

“I just need to know why,” Draco said, muffled.

“I dunno. You make me laugh. Currently _at_ you,” Ron said, kissing the side of Draco’s head, “But usually with you. And I fancy the arse off you. And I like fighting with you about Quidditch, and I like it when you kick about the flat wearing nothing but your underwear - which is all the time because you’re a shameless hussy. Does it need to be more than that?”

“Your flat is too hot,” Draco said.

“ _Our_ flat. Maybe I keep it hot so you’ll keep taking your clothes off,” Ron said, and Draco laughed against his shoulder. Ron pushed him away gently so he could get at Draco’s mouth and kiss him.

“You okay?” he said softly after a few moments. Draco shrugged.

“As I ever am.”

Ron made an exasperated face.

“Alright yes, I’m okay. Um, quite...happy actually,” Draco said.

“Yeah,” Ron said. “Me too.” They looked at each other for a long moment and Draco felt himself smiling like an idiot.

“Right,” said Ron, “Let’s go back to the bit where fucking me is so good it makes you want to die. I think that needs to be discussed in _much_ greater detail.”

“I said that under emotional duress,” Draco said.

“You said it loud enough that my mother probably heard it through a closed window, so you must have meant it,” Ron said.

“Oh God,” Draco muttered. Ron slung an arm around his shoulders and began steering him back over the uneven grass.

“Come on. You’ve got dishes to finish. And it turns me on seeing you slaving away over a sink, have to say.”

“Do I have to?” Draco said sulkily.

“Yeah. Because it’ll make my mum happy, and that’ll make me happy, and you love me and want me to be happy more than anything,” Ron said.

“Oh,” said Draco, and let Ron lead him back towards the house.

He absent-mindedly sucked on the paper-cut on his finger again. Ron stopped and looked at him.

“Is that still bothering you?” he said sharply. Draco took his finger from his mouth and looked at it.

“It just itches. It feels better,” he said. There was a faint red line just under the skin but he hadn’t really thought about it.

Ron grabbed his wrist. “Haven’t you had your training on Magical Injury yet?” he said. “There’s a simple spell...hang on.”

He pushed Draco’s sleeve up to his elbow. Draco flushed a little as the scarred patch of skin where his Dark Mark had been was exposed. Ron rolled his wand along Draco’s finger and suddenly Draco could see a dark black line under his skin from the small cut on his fingertip to the edge of his scar. His heart began to thud in fear.

“What is it?” he said, and even as he spoke, the darkness moved and spread out across the inside of his forearm.

“Oh shit,” Ron said. “Oh shit I’ve triggered it. Hold on Draco, just…”

Draco screamed in agony as his Dark Mark suddenly stood out on his arm in sharp relief. Waves of pain travelled along his arm and he clutched at Ron for support. But Ron wasn’t looking at him, he was looking in horror at the Dark Mark Draco had sent into the sky.

“Run,” Ron said, his face lit by the eerie green light. He tried to move, dragging Draco behind him. Draco was nothing but a hindrance, half-fainting and stumbling.

Draco could hear shouts coming from the house as they approached, Ron almost carrying him by now.

Mr Weasley was at the door, wand pointed at Draco.

“Did you do this?” he said.

“He didn’t dad! It’s a curse...he cut his hand on something and it’s set this off…”

“Get behind me, both of you,” Mr Weasley said urgently, looking over their heads.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Draco said desperately. “I didn’t do it.” His vision started to grey at the edges as the scar sent agony through him again and he fell against Ron.

Ron tugged Draco forward and Draco slammed into an invisible wall.

“Your mother and I have spent years putting up protections against Death Eaters here. With that thing on his arm, I don’t know how to get him inside,” Mr Weasley said.

George and Percy were at the door now. “Oh my God,” George said, taking out his wand.

“Oh fuck, _look_ ,” Ron said.

Death Eaters started to land in the garden of the Burrow. Draco tried to stand, tried to back away, scrabbling with his feet.

“Language, Ronald,” Mrs Weasley said. “Arthur let them inside this minute.”

“He can’t - if I change the…”

They had a fast, fierce argument which ended in Mrs Weasley seizing Draco’s arm. “This will hurt,” she said and pressed her wand into the centre of the Mark.

“Hold on.” Draco could feel Ron’s arms around him. “Just hold on.” Draco felt himself arch up in agony.

He could hear jeering laughter and shouts of “It’s the little Malfoy!” “You missed me, darling? Boyfriend not enough for you?” Bile rose in his throat.

“You want to come back, you know what to do,” a familiar voice called out. The Death Eater who had kidnapped him before. “We all know how you love it. Last chance!”

The others hooted with laughter again.

“On three,” Ron said and Draco watched as the Weasley’s extended their wands in unison.

“Now!” A volley of curses soared over his head. The pain seared into Draco’s arm again and he lost consciousness.

When he came to again, he couldn’t move. His head thumped and he couldn’t work out which way was up. Was he on the floor, or standing up? He couldn’t open his eyes. Voices washed over him.

“Who’s the only trained Auror here?” Ron was yelling. “Right then. Listen. Bill, take a look at Draco - if it’s a curse you can do something about it. Fleur, mum, with me. Yes!” he said as Arthur started to protest. “Dad you need to contact the Ministry and get hold of that letter before it does something worse.”

“Have they gone?” Percy said.

“Didn’t put up much of a fight. Wasn’t what they were expecting,” Ron said.

“What _were_ they…”

“It was quite obviously meant to target Harry,” Bill was saying. “It’s a curse that opens old links to Voldemort. It was just bad luck that Draco picked that letter up.”

“Really though, someone should have picked up on that before it got to this stage,” Percy was saying. “It shouldn’t have been left to a junior member of staff…”

Draco lost consciousness again.

When he woke up a second time, someone was wrapping a bandage around his arm. “That should do it for now Molly, but he’ll really need to get it looked at properly.”

Draco managed to open his eyes and found Bill staring down at him, disconcertingly handsome.

“You back with us?” he said. Draco nodded. The healer from St Mungos who had attended to him a couple of months ago was just finishing bandaging over his Mark. She folded his arm across his chest gently.

“Does that hurt?” she asked. “You’ve been jolly brave.”

“I’ve been unconscious,” Draco said, and she laughed.

“Very sensible of you,” she said.

“What can you remember about what the letter said?” Bill asked. Percy had come over too. It seemed like most of the Ministry was crammed into the Weasley’s living room.

Draco let them heave him to a sitting position and began to tell Bill and Percy all he could remember. He was aware of Ron across the room from him, giving Robarts a full report. Ron glanced over at him, giving him a half smile before focussing back onto their boss.

It took a couple of hours for all the reports to be made and the curse to be completely removed from Draco’s arm. Bill had worked diligently on him for an hour and a half and Draco was left curse-free and with an almighty crush.

At last all the Ministry officials had left, and only the family were left, collapsed around the room on various armchairs, drinking tea Mrs Weasley and Bill had made. Mr Weasley came from seeing them off and glared around the room.

“Ron, I need to talk to you,” he said.

“What, now?” Ron said. “What about?”

“You know what about,” Mr Weasley said and Mrs Weasley looked stricken.

“No I don’t,” Ron said stubbornly. Draco held his forearm and wished he could just fucking apparate away, even if it meant leaving Ron here.

“Well if I have to spell it out for you... Should we expect every family lunch to be disrupted by the Dark Arts from now on?”

“Why should you expect that?” Ron asked, sounding dangerously close to losing his temper.

“Don’t play stupid Ron, you know what I’m talking about.”

Bill and George both started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur spluttered.

“Oh I dunno; Dark Marks, Death Eaters, weird curses, disrupting half the Ministry on a Sunday afternoon,” George said. “Reminds me of the good old days when Harry used to come and stay.”

“This is nothing like that,” Arthur began.

“Yes it is dad,” Ron said. “And you were happy enough to let Harry come round any time he liked, even though the most evil wizard of all time was living in his head.”

“This is completely different, Ron,” Arthur said.

“Yeah, I know. Draco isn’t psychically linked to a mass murderer for a start.”

“But he _is_ linked to the Death Eaters! How do we know this is the last time something like this will happen?”

“I’ve cut the Mark off myself before and I’ll cut it off again,” Draco said, clutching his forearm. “I don’t want anything to do with it. I know you’ll probably never believe me, but Ron does.”

“If you knew how they got him to join in the first place…” Ron began furiously, but Draco caught at his arm. Ron turned to look at him and Draco shook his head. No. He’d rather be distrusted forever than the Weasleys knowing about all that. Ron gave him a tight smile and put his hand over Draco’s.

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

Mrs Weasley had gone very quiet. She was looking at Draco with a strange expression and Draco realised suddenly that she knew something. She had been in the Order after all. He closed his eyes and looked away, feeling sick.

But he couldn’t avoid it.

“I thought your father would have protected you,” she said, almost in a whisper, and Draco opened his eyes again. “You were so spoiled.”

“Hard to protect me from prison,” Draco hissed. He couldn’t bear the pity in her eyes. “And _I don’t want to talk about this._ ”

Ron pulled him close and Draco held on tight. “Mum,” he said. “Enough.”

“Right,” Mrs Weasley said in a more normal voice. “Well you’re not cutting that off yourself again, there’s a proper way to do it, and that isn’t it. Arthur?”

“Um, yes. You’ll need an appointment at the Department of Mysteries. I can arrange it for you,” Mr Weasley said.

“Ok,” said Ron. “Thanks mum. Dad. Sorry about...all this. Right. I think Draco needs some rest.”

“Would you like to stay here?” Mrs Weasley said. “You’re both exhausted. It won’t take a moment to make a bed up for Draco. You’re very welcome dear,” she said to Draco, and Draco felt warmed by her kindness.

“Thanks mum, but…” Ron snatched a look at Draco. “Think we’ll head home.”

Realising the ordeal was almost over, Draco felt limp with exhaustion. Thank god, they could go home now. He wanted to lie tangled together on the battered couch and have a really strong drink, and watch Ron laugh at one of his stupid films.

“Alright dear,” Mrs Weasley said, and Draco found himself suddenly, but warmly, hugged. “Take care of yourselves.” She hugged Ron too, a little tearfully. “I do wish you’d reconsider this dangerous job, I’m sure George would appreciate some help at the shop…”

“Let’s talk about it another time mum,” Ron said. “Bye dad.”

“I’ll be in touch about the appointment,” Mr Weasley said, clapping Ron on the shoulder. He clasped Draco briefly by the hand. “Get all this sorted out for you.” Draco nodded.

Ron wound an arm firmly around Draco’s waist and walked him back to the garden gate. “Hold on,” he said, and apparated both of them back to the flat.

Draco almost sobbed with relief to be there. The flat was warm and clean and a fire was lit in the living room grate. Ron shoved him gently towards the sofa, and went and got them both a firewhiskey, before sitting down next to him and dragging both Draco’s legs across his lap.

“Thank _fuck_ we’re back,” he said, with a happy sigh. He ran a hand up Draco’s leg. “Will you stop almost dying though please? It was bad enough when Harry used to do it, but I think you might actually be worse than him.”

“Yeah, I’ll try,” Draco said, taking a warming gulp of whiskey and not minding the mention of Harry for once.

“Promise me,” Ron said, shifting suddenly so he could reach Draco’s mouth. He kissed him; a gentle kiss, burning with whiskey. “Say “I love you Ron and I promise not to die.””

“I…” Draco paused, then pulled Ron down for another kiss. Their eyes met. “I love you, and I promise not to die.”

“Good. Love you too. Right, give me the remote and lets’ watch that mad thing about the teenage werewolves again.”

“Must we?” Draco said, handing him the remote. Despite the Mark throbbing and burning on his arm, the memory of Mr Weasley’s anger, and the prospect of work in the morning and, even worse, an appointment in the Department of Mysteries, he felt pretty wonderful.

“It’s that or the one about the football team, and none of them have an arse nearly as nice as Krum’s.”

“Oh, alright,” Draco said, taking another swallow of whiskey and letting himself sink into this feeling of extraordinary happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> This got a bit long for one update, so a second chapter will follow shortly!


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